The Sound of Silence
by Quiet
Summary: When Light is violated in the worst possible way, he spirals into depression. He doesn't want to kill L anymore. He doesn't even care enough to be Kira, but when the Death Note goes missing, Light's the main suspect, and L's too close for comfort. LxL
1. God is Dead

**A/N: **Oh my God! I just started another story! Woah. Haha, well, to all my AoD readers - welcome! And watch out. This story isn't going to be NEARLY as nice as AoD, but I'm happy with it all the same. I'm branching out here. XD

**WARNING!!!** This story is rated M for a reason. Please keep in mind that this is a serious story dealing with RAPE and the effects of RAPE ( rape trauma syndrome, depression, post-traumatic stress disorder, suicide) Believe me. This story IS NOT pretty, and if you get squishy about this sort of stuff, then you might not want to read it. D:

But I do like happy endings . . . hint hint . . . almost as much as I like angst. (And this will be LightxL!)

**WARNING!!!** Rape scene in the first chapter. I REPEAT! The scene is graphic. NO UNDERAGE READERS! Leave now if you get upset by this sort of thing! I'm serious you guys! I surprised _myself_ with how **fucked up** this chapter was.

**Disclaimer** (for the whole story): I don't own anything recognizable, but if it's not too recognizable, then there's a good chance that I might own it, but let's not take chances, yes?

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**This story is inspired _heavily_ by "The Sound of Silence" by Simon and Garfunkel. PLEASE Youtube this. It's an amazing song.**

* * *

**The Sound of Silence**

_God is Dead_

* * *

_"In restless dreams I walked alone  
Narrow streets of cobblestone,  
'Neath the halo of a street lamp,  
I turned my collar to the cold and damp  
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light  
That split the night  
And touched the sound of silence."_

_- _**Simon and Garfunkel "The Sound of Silence"**

* * *

Light pulled his coat tight, shivering. The cold that night was particularly biting.

The walk from Headquarters to the train station wasn't very far, but the cool temperature made every minute seem inordinately drawn out. The street lights shined dimly as Light made his way down the sidewalk. One street light a block down flickered suddenly, and then died. It gave Light an uneasy feeling, but he pushed it aside.

It was silent. Not even the sound of cars could be heard, or a siren, or even a helicopter. It was completely silent, and the streets were deserted. Light felt himself shiver, but this time it was not caused by the chill.

Light glanced at his wristwatch, squinting to make out the clockface. He had fifteen minutes before the last train ran. His father had taken an earlier one, but Light had opted to stay at Headquarters rather than leave with his father.

It was almost the end, and Light wanted to enjoy his time with his greatest foe. L was the only man who could ever really challenge Light, and Light respected the detective for that. But L would be dead soon, and Light relished being in the man's presence knowing that the detective's time on this earth was limited.

L had lost and Kira had won.

Light smirked at the thought.

And while he enjoyed the detective's presence, to some extent, he was in no mood to stay the night at Headquarters. Now that Higuchi had been caught and Light had been uncuffed, he was jumping at the chance to sleep in his own room without cameras or widened, dark eyes watching his every move.

As he walked, Light mulled over his plan. Everything was going well. Misa had been released yesterday, and she was due to visit him tomorrow or the next day. He would have her dig up the notebook then, and if she still remembered L's real name, then L would be dead either tomorrow or within the next few days. If not, it was no matter. Light always had a contingency plan, and he would have Rem in a position where she would have no choice but to act if it came down to it.

Light smiled cruelly to himself, thinking about the detective's death. It really was a shame that L would die, but the strange man had no place in Light's world. Those who went against God were punished, and L was no exception. His death would pave the way to a New World.

" _. . . pretty_."

Light stopped and turned to look into the mouth of a dark alley where the whisper had come from. The streetlight directly behind him flickered on, and then off once again, but it was enough time for Light to see that a figure lurked just within the alley.

Light chastised himself for stopping, uneasy at the stranger's presence. He stepped quickly away, his eyes firmly set on the lit street lamp just up a head.

That was when he heard the heavy footsteps. Whoever it was, they were following him.

But Light was not worried. No, why should he be? He wasn't about to be mugged, surely. With the threat of Kira, crime rates had dropped dramatically within the past year. And Light was Kira – _God_ – and only the foolish would dare go against God, like L. L was foolish, but he doubted the man following him was. Most people were smart enough not to go against God. Light had nothing to fear.

And then he was grabbed from behind.

With a startled yell, Light thrashed against his attacker, but one sharp stab to the base of his neck left him limp, paralyzed. Pressure point. Light cried out in anger as his knees gave out beneath him.

The man, it could only be a man with that build, dragged him into the darkened alley from whence he came and threw Light to the ground. Light landed with a dull thud and a groan, angry at himself. God did not _allow_ his subjects to mug him. Who ever this bastard was -

"_So pretty_," whipered the man, reaching out to touch his cheek. Light was still feeling the effects of the man's quick jab to his neck, and he had no choice but to allow the touch. However, his rage was slowly building. How dare this man? What gave him the right to touch God?

"Get the fuck away from me," he growled, trying to twist his head around to see the face of the man who attacked him. It was dark in the alley, and he couldn't make out a thing except for the vague shape of the figure standing over him.

He was rewarded by a swift kick to the gut, which had Light doubled over in pain. It was followed by three more kicks, each more vicious than the last. And then suddenly, hands fell upon him, ripping at his clothes.

Light panicked. What the hell? Was the attacker trying to find his wallet? What – and then Light's pants were jerked down, along with his boxers. Light stiffened as the cold air touched his naked skin, coming to a horrific realization. No. No _fucking _way. There was no way he was about to be -

"NO! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" shouted Light, as the man touched him there, softly stroking.

"Hush, little pretty."

"NO! STOP! STOP IT!" gasped Light as he felt wandering hands. He tried to struggle, tried to move, but the man was so much bigger than he was. And so much stronger.

The man kept a firm hand on his head, keeping Light pinned to the ground, all the while roughly pulling Light to his knees, his rear end obscenely jutted out into the cool air. He heard the man fumble behind him, and then he heard the sound of a zipper.

Light's struggles were now desperate, and he gagged as something warm and hard rubbed against his back side. He knew what it was, and Light tried to stifle a cry – it was the least he could do for his dying pride – but to his horror, he found himself begging.

"NO! STOP IT! PLEASE DON'T – NO! PLEASE! STOP – AHHH!"

Pain. Tearing. Burning. Ripping. Pain.

The pain was nothing like he had ever felt before, and Light's weak struggles were not enough to save him from the sudden, unexpected push. The initial intrusion made him cry out in a mangled, disbelieving noise. It was only when the man began to move within him in earnest did the pain intensify.

Light screamed, gasping for breath between each plunge, and then screamed again when the pain slammed back forcefully, harder than before. His attacker kept up the rougher pace, grunting in time with his thrusts.

Light's head was held firmly on the the ground, thick calloused fingers digging into his cheek, rubbing it in a mockery of a caress. His bare knees dug into the rough asphalt of the alley. They were probably bloody.

Suddenly, the man reached around and grabbed Light, tugging roughly. Light gasped, sick and horrified to find himself hardening from the man's ministrations.

"You pretty little _whore_," whispered the man, harshly, and pulled hard. Light groaned as the man's hand rubbed him faster. No. This was not happening. How could he be reacting to this?! Did that mean Light . . . liked this? _No!_ He _hated _this! But why was -

And then Light felt the pressure building. Try as he might, he couldn't stop it, and he came into the man's hand with a strangled, desperate sob.

He was fucking pathetic, and the man knew it too and laughed, wiping his soiled hand along Light's lips. Light gagged, and the man took the opportunity to stick is fingers in Light's mouth, moving them in and out roughly, in sync with his movements from behind Light.

Light bit down hard, and the man drew back his fist and punched him in the head. Light's vision went black for a moment before returning.

The man slammed into him with so much force that Light's face rubbed hard against the asphalt.

Light bit the inside of his cheek to stop from screaming, heedless of the tears that flowed freely down his face now. It hurt. It burned. It tore. It rubbed raw. And there was blood. He could feel it run down his thighs, and even though it hurt, the blood helped ease the tearing pain as the man pummeled his body. He would not scream out again. No. He wouldn't give the bastard the satisfaction.

And then the knife appeared.

"Pretty, little pretty. What a _pretty_ boy . . ." whispered the man, running the blade up and down Light's thighs. Light gasped at the sensation of cold metal, and squeezed his eyes shut. This man wasn't just going to – _hurt_ – Light. He was going to kill him.

Light distantly thought he might have been relieved.

"Don't worry -" the man huffed, "_little pretty_." The man continued to thrust into him, but they were coming erratically now.

"Just want to -" heavy gasp for breath. "- give my little pretty a present," finished the man.

His attacker took the knife and pressed it against the small of Light's back. Light held his breathe, and as the man pressed himself deep into him, and at the same time slashed Light's back just as deeply.

Light screamed. The man continued to slash away at Light's flesh with every slam, and Light's screams did not cease. With one final, hard thrust, Light felt something warm shooting into him, and the man collasped on top of him, heaving.

He felt his blood being smeared by the crushing weight, and he knew, logically, that the man had stopped moving within him, but the phantom sensations of the man's repeated movement left him shaken and muddled.

But it was over. It was all over, and Light couldn't stop the sobs that escaped him. Relieved and pained and sick. He felt like he was going to be sick. His attacker was still in him. Light could feel it, and _oh God_! He just wanted it out!

Light moved weakly, trying to pull away from the man. Anything to get the man out of him.

His attacker laughed, and even though Light couldn't see the man's face with his head still pushed to the ground, he could feel the vibrations of the man's mirth. The man pulled himself out, and Light's stomach lurched at the sickening sensation of the man unseating himself.

With one final caress, a sound of a zipper, and a whisper of "_little pretty_," the man was gone.

And darkness descended.

* * *

Light came to with a start. He furiously blinked his eyes. Where was he? Why was he so cold? Why was his whole body throbbing dully in pain?

_Hands, tearing, pain. A scream. "Little pretty . . ."_

Light's breathing became erratic with the sudden onslaught of memories. He squeezed his eyes shut.

"No, no, no, no, no . . . ." he whispered furiously.

Silent tears leaked from the corner of his eyes, and even though Light had refused to shed a tear since he was six, he couldn't find the strength to care now. He moved, and with the movement came the knowledge that he was lying in a small pool of blood and semen. His stomach lurched yet again, and Light pulled himself to his feet, feeling a trail of liquid sliding down his leg.

He was in such a hurry to move from the place he had been –_ hurt_ – that he didn't realize that his pants were still tangled around his knees. He stumbled and fell, his hand catching himself on the wet asphalt. He brought his fingers up to his face, and in the dim light from the flickering street lamp, he saw blood. His blood. And something . . .

Light vomitted, violently expunging his dinner. He choked, the smells of his violation making his nausea worse. Oh, God, the _smell_. Blood, sweat, sex, vomit – he heaved again, but nothing else would come up.

He stayed on his hands and knees for a few moments longer until the nausea had passed. He carefully clambered to his feet, stumbling slightly when a wave of dizziness slammed into him. He fell back against the wall of the alley, breathing deeply.

With extreme effort, Light pulled his khaki pants back up and re-did his zipper, cringing at the horrid sound. He winced, his breathe catching as his pants rubbed against the slashes on the small of his back. He gritted his teeth and pulled his coat closer around him before shakily walking out onto the sidewalk.

Silence. Complete and utter silence.

The street lamp flickered.

Light glanced at his watch. The train had left an hour ago. He must have been out for a while, but thankfully not too long. He would never want anyone to find him in that position. Ever.

He wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve, and let a calm, detached mask fall across his features. The screams, the pain, the embarrassment – he locked it all away behind his mask, and strode forward with determination. It would be a long walk home, and there was no way in hell he'd go back to Headquarters.

His limp was barely percievably, but there all the same.

* * *

It was very late, or very early if one wanted to get technical, but all the same, Light was infintely relieved to find the household asleep. His father must have assumed that Light had stayed at Headquarters. If only he had, then maybe - He stopped that train of thought. Only fools dwelled on what-ifs. What happened, happened, and Light would deal with it. What happened changed _nothing_. His plans would continue - _he _would continue - just like it never happened.

Light could faintly smell the remanents of dinner, and it looked like his mother had rearranged the living room furniture in the months of his abscence, but for the most part, everything remained the same. He wasn't happy to be home, per se, but the familiar atmosphere calmed his nerves somewhat. He felt safe here.

He paused, his hand on the stair rail, as the thought flitted across his mind.

_Safe?_ He shook his head, clearing the thought away.

Light crept up the stairs, making a point of stepping over the step that creaked. He didn't want to take the chance of waking someone. Not until he could get rid of his clothes and . . . a shower. Yes, he needed a shower. Every time he took a step, he could feel the blood and – _other stuff_ – sticking to his legs.

Just as he was about to reach for his door, someone grabbed his arm.

He yelped, jumping away as panic and fear shot through him. He tripped and fell to the floor, landing on his rear end with a scream of pain he tried his best to muffle. The pain pulsed through him in waves, but he paid it no mind. His eyes were darting back and forth between his room and the darkened silhoutte of what had to be the -

"B-brother?" came the hesitant voice of Sayu.

Light blinked in disbelief, trying his best to calm his racing heart. Sayu. It was just Sayu. It wasn't anyone that was going to – _hurt_ – him. He felt angry at himself for thinking such things. He was at home! Not in some fucking back alley! Not anymore!

"Sayu! What the hell are you doing out of bed?" he asked, and it came out more harshly than he intended, but he was so _angry_. Angry at Sayu for scaring him so bad. For reminding him of what had just happened. Angry at himself for reacting in the humiliating way that he did.

"I-I haven't seen you in m-months. D-dad said you might c-come home tonight. I was w-waiting for you," stuttured his sister.

Light narrowed his eyes. "Just go to bed. It's too late for family reunions."

Sayu just stared at him for one long moment before turning around and quietly entering her own room. The door closed with a soft click.

Light pulled himself up to his feet, holding onto his door handle for added support. He felt a fresh gush of blood seep out of his rear. The jarring impact had agitated the wounds, and his back stung something awful as he manuevered himself off the floor.

Light pushed all the emotions that threatened to drown him back down, and his mask fell back into place with a practiced ease. He was fine. Everything was fine. Normal. He was _completely_ in control.

Light turned on his lights and locked the door. He breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of his old room. Now, he'd just have to get rid of the evidence. Then he could go about his life as if this night had _never_ happened.

He stripped down, wincing as the dried blood pulled at his skin as the boxers came off. He _could _salvage the clothing - they weren't that bad off, but that didn't mean he had too. No, he had to get rid of it. He had to erase all evidence of this night.

He wadded up his clothes – including his jacket – and opened his closet. There. He found what he was looking for. He took out new clothes from a plastic bag that he had never worn before and threw them on the floor of the closet. He shoved his old, bloodied clothes into the bag and pushed it to the far corner of his closet. He'd throw them in a dumpster, or better yet, burn them tomorrow.

Light snatched up a pair of clean pyjamas and a towel. Not wanting to soil his towel with the blood, he stuck his head out of his room. He didn't see anyone, so he walked quickly to the bathroom across the hall, shutting and locking the door.

He didn't think he would be able to bear looking in the mirror just yet, so Light studiously avoided looking to his right. He turned the water on and got in.

The water was as hot as it would go. Hot water cleaned better than cold water, and Light wasn't going to take any chances. He felt too . . . dirty. Filthy. Disgusting. He had to make sure that every touch, every slash, every _violation_ was washed away down the drain.

Light swallowed hard against the pain. His back stung fiercely, but he steadfastly stayed under the stream. Gently, he attempted to wash the blood away from his back and rear. The pain was so bad that Light felt his vision waver. The pain and the heat were making him feel sick again, but the clenched his teeth in determination and dealt with it. Staying dirty wasn't even an option.

He made sure to pay special attention to this knees also. They were scraped from the rough asphalt, and Light had a small knot on his head from where he had punched him. Dark bruises littered his torso, and his stomach muscles screamed in protest at every movement.

But no matter how hard he scrubbed, no matter how much soap he used, even after the crusted blood and semen had been washed away, Light still felt filthy. He could still feel the blood. He could still feel that man _slamming_ inside of him.

Light sunk down to the floor and let the scalding water, which was becoming less scalding by the minute, run down his back, which still stung horribly. But Light didn't care. It was better than what _he_ had done to him. He closed his eyes tightly, willing the awful images, feelings, and phantom sensations to leave him.

If only he could get clean.

Light didn't know how long he sat there, willing the water to cleanse him, but when he realized that the water was ice cold, Light quickly turned off the shower. Cold. It had been cold. He had woken up in that alley, and he had been col – Light forcibly stopped the thought.

He pulled the shower curtain back and reached for the towel. The rough cotton rubbed his raw skin in an unpleasant way, but Light paid it no mind. He accidentally glanced into the mirror, surprised that the steam had for the most part disspated already. He must have been under the cold water longer than he thought, but what he saw in the mirror made him flinch.

He looked pale and drawn. The knot on his head was hidden by his hair, and the skin hadn't broken where his face had rubbed the asphalt. And besides his obvious exhaustion, he looked normal, but . . . there was something wrong with him. Light could see it. There was something so very . . . _wrong_ . . . with him.

Light glared at himself in the mirror. No. He was not weak. He refused to be. There was nothing wrong with him! He wouldn't let something like this get to him. He was Kira. He was God. Gods don't hurt. Gods don't feel. Gods aren't . . .

Gods don't_ let_ themselve be taken_ advantage of_ like that _. . ._

Gods don't_ bleed _like he did _. . ._

Gods aren't _aroused_ by their _fucking violation . . ._

Gods aren't _weak_ like he was _. . . weak . . ._

_God . . .?_

Light looked away from the mirror. He couldn't even look at himself. What kind of God was he? What kind of God would allow one of his subjects to debase him in such away? No. A God would never allow that. A God would have the power to stop such a thing from happening. So then why didn't Light stop him?

Did that mean . . . that he wasn't . . . God?

How could he be a God? How could he protect the world from bad people when he couldn't even protect himself?

Light didn't have the answer, and he hated himself for that. For not knowing. God knew all, and yet, Light knew _nothing_.

He clutched the towel around his waste tighter, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable, but gasped as the towel pulled roughly on the wounds on his back, reminding him of their presence. There was no way in hell he would seek out medical treatment. How could he face the humiliation? He had to treat his wounds himself.

Light opened the medicine cabinet, relieved to see a tube of anti-septic cream. Deciding it was now or never, Light turned so his back was facing the mirror and then twisted his head to look at the damage.

His eyes widened in shock and horror. The kanji for 'pretty' was carved into his back.

_"Little pretty . . ."_

* * *

**A/N: **Woah, hot damn. That was intense!

**PLEASE READ!**

Well, I haven't jumped into this story without doing my homework. **And before anyone asks, no, Light DID NOT ENJOY himself despite his body's reaction**. Forced orgasm is a common staple in male rapes. Apparently it is utilized to make the victim feel humiliation, degredation, and for a sense of empowerment for the attacker. The penis is sort of like a nerve, and any stimulation is going to make it react, whether the person attached to the penis wants it or not. Many victims feel like they reacted because some part of them wanted it. This is not true, but if they don't realize this, it can cause them a slew of problems and self-hate issues while trying to heal.

Rape is a horrible horrible horrible thing, and while I hope this story is entertaining for those angst buffs out there, I also hope it's LE GASP educational too. No, I don't condone it. At all. I just like to study it and its effects through writing.

SO, anyway, like it? hate it? **SAY SOMETHING**! I love to hear for you all!


	2. Sickness in My Head

**A/N: **Oh wow. Hiiiiiii, you guys! How ya been? How's the family? Is that a new hair cut? Gee, you look great.

. . . . . . erm. Yeah. In case no one has looked at the long excuse on my profile, I moved out of the 'rents house, started my junior year at college 5 hours away from home, etc, etc. Yeah. Major life changes, for sure.

Probably not good enough, huh? Yeah, figured.

Ooookay. Sooooo. To all my AoD readers, nope, not dead. I would be if certain AoD reviewers had my home address, but no, I'm still alive. And y'all should expect the update soon. Seriously. Me updating this story is a good thing. It shows I'm starting to get back into the swing of writing again. Yeah.

Uh but anyway.

Yay! Here's the next chapter to SoS! (It's been half finished for, like, a month. It was easier to update this one first.) :O

* * *

**The Sound of Silence**

_Missing_

* * *

_"Hello darkness, my old friend,  
I've come to talk with you again,  
Because a vision softly creeping,  
Left its seeds while I was sleeping,  
And the vision that was planted in my brain  
Still remains  
Within the sound of silence."_

**_- _Simon and Garfunkel "The Sound of Silence"**

* * *

It was quiet.

Light pulled the covers over his head, blocking out the early morning sun that filtered in through his blinds. His body ached and protested at every small movement, so Light tried to stay as still as he possibly could, but . . .

He couldn't hear anything.

The once familiar noises of his family getting ready for the day had ceased. He heard the front door slam an hour ago. That had been his father leaving for Headquarters. His mother had clanged dishes in the kitchen for close to twenty minutes, no doubt preparing breakfast for Sayu, but even those noises had bleed away when his mother had taken Sayu to school.

No one had knocked on his door. His father hadn't asked him when he'd be at Headquarters. His mother hadn't even offered him breakfast. This led Light to the conclusion that his sister hadn't mentioned him coming home. She was probably upset with him.

And while he certainly didn't want to see anyone, the silence of the house was unnerving, and Light didn't understand why it was so.

Light twisted his head minutely, trying to find a better place for it to rest on the pillow. He had a feeling that he was supposed to be doing something – something important, but his thoughts were disjointed.

Didn't he have plans? Didn't he have _a_ plan?

It was a barely realized concious thought that flitted away to the dark recesses of his mind just as quickly as it came.

. . . And then Light found himself in the shower.

He didn't exactly remember how he got there, but the pain of the water hitting his knife wounds brought him back to an awareness he hadn't even realized he'd lost, and in normal circumstances, he would have been highly unsettled by this. But now? He just . . . wasn't.

The water was shockingly cold. Light stared blankly at the shower head for a moment before realizing what he had do in order to make the water warm. He twisted a knob all the way to the far left. Immediately the cold was replaced by hot, but the sudden warmth made him tired. So tired that he didn't even have the strength to stand anymore. He sank to his knees before gently easing himself in a sitting position. It hurt.

Light watched the water swirl around the drain dispassionately, and he felt a muted sort of kinship with cold metal. He felt like someone had pulled a plug somewhere deep within, and he was just . . . draining away.

It was strange, and it was numb, almost.

Yes. That was it.

He felt numb.

* * *

Light awoke with a start, striking out at an attacker that existed only within his mind. It took him a moment to realize that he was alone in his bed, and it took even longer for him to slow his shallow breathing, lest he hyperventilate.

Once he had calmed, Light soon began to shiver violently. The control which he had only just gained had slipped away just as quickly as it had come. Really, it felt like everything was slipping away, and no matter how hard he tried, he wasn't able to catch it.

Maybe there was something wrong with his hands?

Light held up a hand, looking at it with widened eyes. With no small amount of suprise, he realized that there _was_ something wrong with his hand. It looked and felt almost alien – like it didn't belong to him, and it wouldn't stop shaking no matter how much he willed it to.

He felt a harsh twist in his stomach. Fear. He was scared. He couldn't stop the shivering, he couldn't stop the numbness, and he couldn't stop the fear – just like he wasn't able to stop –

"_. . . hush, little pretty."_

Light gasped, and slammed his eyes shut. His shivering, if possible, only intensified.

It was close to an hour later, when his shaking had just about ceased, that Light felt a pressure in his lower abdomen. It was then that Light realized he truly had no control, and no matter what sort of delusions he may have entertained in the past, he never really had.

It was only more proof to the point. Light was not God. He was a lowly human, as much a slave to his body as every other human on the planet. God did not have to worry about the pressing matter making itself known in his lower abdomen, and Light would never truly be God as long as he was in this torn and useless body that demanded so much from him.

But why did it have to hurt so badly? And why did there have to be so much blood?

Light flushed the toilet and stumbled back to his room, only to crawl gingerly into his bed.

However, no matter how hard he tried, Light could not get back to sleep. Instead, he stared at the lazy swirls of the ceiling, determined not to think about anything but the patterns, and eventually the patterns began to fade away.

His mind was blissfully blank, lost in the senseless swirls.

* * *

A moment of clarity found Light back in the bathroom. He cautiously prodded his rectum, grimacing at the stinging pain, and applied a healthy dose of antiseptic cream. He washed his hands vigorously afterwards, and tried to quell the urge to strip his clothes and take another shower. He had already had two, and while a third was appealing, Light didn't have the energy.

Tackling the cuts on his back was a whole nother issue, but he managed. The wound screamed at him with every minute movement, but it already scabbed over.

He went back to bed.

As he eased himself back under the covers, taking special care where his wounds were concerned, Light suddenly wondered what was happening back at Headquarters. His father, at the very least, was probably worried. L was more than likely suspicious of his absence. Hopefully they would think that Light was taking a well deserved break. He had been handcuffed to L for months, after all. It was only logical that he would want some time away.

Besides, for all intents and purposes, the Kira case was virtually solved. Since the other notebook was still buried, there would be no more killings.

Maybe that was a good thing. Only God should have the power of judgement.

And Light was not God.

Nevertheless, he sent his father a text message, punching the buttons with shakey, but determined fingers.

He was at home, and he was sick.

Breif, to the point, and hopefully allowing him his peace.

* * *

The sound of a door slamming jarred him awake.

One look at the nightstand, and Light knew that it must have been Sayu home from school. She usually walked herself home in the afternoons. His father would still be at Headquarters, and Light wasn't sure if his mother was home or not. If she was, he hadn't heard her come in.

Light briefly wondered if he should try and eat something, but the thought of food made his naseous.

Instead, he gingerly turned onto his other side and closed his eyes.

* * *

Night had fallen hours ago.

Light was staring at the ceiling once again.

The small beams of street light that bled through his blinds created shadows in his room, and if Light let his mind linger, then the shadows would morph themselves into terrifying figures.

When this happened, he'd close his eyes and find a distraction before the whispers began.

_When trying to find the convert polar to rectangular coordinates, if given equation B, then R = sqrt [x^2 +y^4] = sqrt [23.2 + 1.292] = (32) = 21 sqrt (5). If F of X is equal to or greater than -_

Light would continue to solve trigonomic equations in his head for some minutes until the fear abated, and this proved to be a good way for Light to regain some semblance of control. He sighed, opening his eyes to the shadows yet again, feeling more tired and defeated than he ever had before.

* * *

It was morning. Again. His second day at home, and he hadn't seen a soul since the night he arrived. It was like nobody knew he was up here. Light figured that it wasn't so farfetched that this was the case. It had to be, or otherwise his mother would have been up here yesterday morning.

He knew Sayu wouldn't mention him. More than likely she was under the impression that Light had left. His father was another story altogether. He had expected the man to at least call once he had received Light's text message.

He checked his phone, frowning when he realized that it had gone dead. The charger was back at Headquarters.

But then Light decided that he didn't care. He didn't care that no one had bothered to check in on him. He didn't care at all, and he even preferred it that way. He didn't want anybody to see how broken and useless and disgusting he was. Nobody at all.

He stared at the ceiling.

* * *

On his third day at home, sometime in the afternoon, Light decided that he was going to eat something. He still wasn't interested in eating, per se, but he felt that it was worth a try nonetheless.

However, his new found resolve took a hit at around the fourth bite of leftover pork cutlet. He vomitted in the sink.

"Oh my God! Are you okay?"

Light wearily lifted his head. His sister was staring at him wide eyed, still holding her school bag in one hand. He hadn't heard her come in. Light let his head fall back into the sink, feeling the nausea roll through him.

"Yeah," he mumbled, his voice muffled.

Sayu came up behind him and gently rubbed his back in soothing circles. Light tensed at the unexpected contact. She was too close to the cuts, and having someone touch him was . . . hard. But Sayu didn't notice how rigid Light had become.

"When did you get back?" she asked.

"I never left," breathed Light. He squeezed his eyes shut as another bout of nausea attacked him, and this time he was sure that it was from Sayu's gentle hand on his back.

"You never left?! You mean you've been upstairs since the other night? How come you haven't come down? I thought you left again," prodded Sayu, looking for an explanation.

Light stood up fully, grabbing a kitchen towel to wipe his mouth. His movemet caused Sayu to stop touching him, and he moved away from her reaching hands. He sat down at the kitchen table, suddenly too weary to stand, and grimaced at the plate of leftovers still on the table. He pushed it away.

"Yes, I never left. I've been sick."

"Obviously," shot Sayu, her voice sharp and hands going to her hips.

This move startled Light. When had Sayu become so much like his mother?

"Well, since you're sick, you need to go back to bed. I'll bring you up some water and crackers. And some Tylenol," added Sayu, as an afterthought. She ushered him up from his chair, seeming to ignore the way Light flinched away from her hand on his arm.

Light didn't protest, besides extracting his arm from his sister's grasp, and let himself be led back to his room. He climbed into bed, and his sore body protested. Sayu delivered the promised amenities and then quietly excused herself.

The encounter had exhausted him. Emotionally more than physically, but exhausting all the same. Light still couldn't shake the feeling that if he had been around Sayu long enough, she would have been able to tell. She'd see what was wrong, and then she'd know.

He didn't want anyone to know.

Light spent the rest of the afternoon trying to think logically about his situation, which proved to be easier said than done. It was easy to stare mindlessly at the ceiling, numbing the despair and horror that caressed the edges of his mind, rather than attempt to come to terms with it. But three days had given Light a chance to regain a small semblance of control, and no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't hide in his room forever.

There were things he knew now – things that had alluded him before. First of all – and a small voice in the back of his head took sadistic pleasure in contantly reminding him – he was not God. He had no right to be Kira anymore, because he was human, and a human's judgement was inherently as flawed as the human himself.

And if any human was flawed, it was Light. He saw it everytime he looked in the mirror.

Kira was dead. The Death Note would stay buried. L would take care of the second notebook, and Light would shut this chapter in his life. He would go back to college and figure it out from there.

A soft murmuring started in head, phantom pains tingled, but Light stopped it before it could take hold. No. He would not let that bastard fuck him over again. He was nothing but a cruel, taunting memory now.

Light may not be God – _Kira_ – but he was still Light Yagami, and Light Yagami would not be beaten again.

He felt better, now that he had a plan.

Much better.

* * *

Light jerked awake, barely stifling the scream that threatened to escape, and sobbed.

"No, no, no, no, no . . . ."

He could feel it. Hands. They were everywhere. Touching, pulling, caressing – Light shuddered, his sobs violent now, muffled by the pillow.

_". . . little pretty."_

His wounds burned. His body ached, and his stomach protested. He felt dizzy, and his heart was fluttering, but he could only hold onto his pillow, his breathing shallow and gasping, sobbing out the fear and pain that woudn't leave him be.

He didn't feel better anymore.

* * *

Soichirou Yagami was, by nature, a patient man.

This changed when he discovered that his son had gone missing.

And it didn't help that his son's disappearence just happened to coincide with the disappearence of the Death Note.

"He really was Kira, wasn't he?" asked Soichirou, his head bowing in defeat.

Mogi and Aizawa exchanged uneasy looks. Matsuda stared down at his shoes. L's eyes never left the great wall of computer screens, each one showing a different angle of surveillance. However, one screen remained persistently grey.

"I have been under that impression for many months now," murmured L, his eyes narrowed at the blank screen.

Soichirou grimaced.

"Damnit, Ryuuzaki. You could show a little more tact," growled Aizawa, stepping forward with fists clenched.

"Whether I possess tact or not is irrelevent. What is relevent is locating Light and the Death Note before he picks up where he left off, and the body count rises," replied L, rolling a sugar cube between his fingers, his eyes never leaving the grey screen.

"So we don't have any idea how that camera went out?" asked Matsuda at length, once the man became uncomfortable at the tense silence that had followed L's reply.

"I had Watari check the camera when nothing proved amiss with the computers. It appears that a piece of wiring in the walls connecting that particular camera to the suveillance system is missing."

"So Light somehow jerked the wires out, cutting off the feed?" asked Matsuda.

"No. The wall is intact. Light left here the other night, and he did not come back. I have checked the surveillance system myself. There is no signs of tampering besides the obvious. I suspect that Light had help, possibly on the inside," said L, dropping the sugar cube that had been preoccupying his fingers into his tea cup It made a small 'plop.'

"Wha – What? You mean someone here helped him get the Death Note?" gasped Matsuda.

L cut his eyes, regarding the shocked man with an air of impatience. "Not quite. The shinigami is gone. I believe that it had a hand in disabling the camera and retrieving the notebook."

"That makes sense," mumbled Aizawa. Mogi nodded his agreement, and Matsuda breathed an exaggerated sigh of relief.

Soichirou hadn't lifted his head once.

"I want tweny-four hour surveillance on Amane. Aizawa, Matsuda – I don't want her to know you're watching. Light may contact her, or vice versa, and I hope that she can lead us to him. Watari has a car prepared for you both. He's waiting in the garage," said L. He stirred his tea slowly.

Aizawa nodded brusquely, and left, Matsuda stumbling after him.

"Mogi. I need you to continue as you have been on the criminal database. And Yagami –"

Soichirou looked up.

" – Go home. Take a few days to come to terms with this turn of events, and then come back," ordered L.

Soichirou sighed, but stood up to leave anyway, only glancing back briefly at the man who had gone back to staring at surveillance video.

He didn't know how he would tell Sachiko.

* * *

**A/N: **Whew. Okay. Now that THAT'S over with, I gotta go study for my Japanese midterm. Ugh, damnit. It's almost 3AM. FML.

AND say something you guys!!! :D


	3. Stolen

**A/N: **I know, I know. I suck balls.

Short, but it's better than nothing. Two updates (one for AoD) in one day. Imagine that. I think I got my mojo back. So expect updates to come quicker.

Special thanks to **Tarshil**, who pointed out something that I didn't catch and still makes me laugh whenever I think about it. To quote **Tarshil**, "The Sound of Silence by Quiet...hahaha. You got style." Thanks, man.

* * *

**The Sound of Silence**

_Stolen_

* * *

_"And no one dare_

_Disturb the sound of silence."_

**- Simon and Garfunkel "The Sound of Silence"**

* * *

If Sayu knew that Light was home and sick, then logically, it wouldn't be very long until his mother knew he was home and sick.

The nightmare and the resulting breakdown weighed heavily on his mind, and he found that numbing himself to the pain was better than thinking about it, at the very least. He was trying to do just that when the door opened, slowly, as if the person didn't want to wake him if he had been asleep. His mother, then.

"Light?" she called softly, peaking her head around the door.

"Hey, Mom," he murmured, eyes half lidded.

"Oh, Light. Why didn't you tell me you were here? Or sick?" asked Sachiko, closing the door behind her. She sat on his bed. "Come here, baby," she whispered, pulling Light up and to her into a warm embrace.

The last time he'd been hugged like this by his mother, Light mused silently as he begged the feeling of revulsion to go away, had been years ago – at least as long as the last time he'd been majorly sick, and he never got sick often. Just another reason for his god delusions to have had such a stronghold, he supposed.

Revulsion warred with pleasure, but Light was stubborn, and he brought his arms up, wrapping them around his mother, clinging to her, his head on her shoulder. She rubbed soothing circles into his back, much like Sayu had earlier, but it wasn't so bad this time. Just as long as Light kept focusing on her.

He felt a sudden and overwhelming swell of love for this woman, his own mother, and wondered how he could have ever considered sacrificing his family to Kira. The thought made him sick.

"Light? Are you crying?" asked his mother, surprise in her voice.

"N-no," whispered Light, squeezing his eyes against the tears, his hand curling on the fabric of her blouse.

"You're a horrible liar," said his mother. Light shuddered. No, he really wasn't. That had been part of the problem.

She pulled back gently, and Light literally had to make himself let go of her. She searched his face, obviously upset by what she saw. She layed a cool hand against his head, then both cheeks.

"I don't remember the last time you were so sick," she said, her voice soothing. "What time did Sayu give you the Tylenol?"

Light shrugged minutely. "I don't really remember."

"I'll ask her, and then I'll bring you something. Here, lay down. If you get any worse, I'll have to call the doctors office and make you an appointment," she warned, tucking the blanket in around him.

Light grimaced. He would make himself get better before he went to a doctor's. Doctors were trained to see what was wrong with people. One look at Light, and the doctor would know. That was something Light wouldn't – couldn't – stand for.

"Don't give me that look. You're sick Light, and I can't believe you've been holed up in your room all this time as bad as you look. You'll go to he doctors if there isn't any improvement by tomorrow," she warned, her hand coming up to her hips.

Light nodded, but inwardly he was shaking his head.. "Okay, Mom."

She smiled softly, her hands falling from her hips. "Are you hungry?"

Light winced.

"No, then. You need to keep hydrated, even if you can't stomach anything," his mother informed him. "I'll be right back with some water, and I think we might even have some Sprite if your sister hasn't drunken it all."

"I did okay with the crackers," offered Light, more than a little hesistant. True, he had done okay with the one cracker he had managed to choke down. The other three were hiding from Sayu in his bedside table, lest she see and try to make him eat them when he really had no desire to.

But now he was trying to convince his mother that he was getting better so that she wouldn't manhandle him to the doctors. Voluntarily eating, even if it was just a few crackers under her hawk-like gaze, was much more preferable than being paraded through the doctor's office like some sort of freak show exhibit.

His mother smiled brightly, "The saltines?"

Light nodded.

"I'll be right back," she said, shutting the door behind her.

Light let a sigh of relief escape him before gingerly settling himself back into the covers. That had been exhausting. His emotions had gone haywire, and he was especially surprised at how strongly he had felt towards his mother just then.

He frowned. It figured that a traumatic expirience would not only shock him out of his delusions of godhood, but turn him into a needy child desperate for his mother's comfort.

Light snorted, pulling the covers up over his head. He wasn't a needy child. He wasn't a child either. Hadn't been for a very long time. But he couldn't deny the feeling of safety that his mother gave him. It was only natural, he supposed.

After all, the woman was his mother, and if there was such a person who it was in their very nature to care for him and keep him safe, then it was his own mother. On some deep, instinctual level, Light realized this, and sought out her comfort.

And on another level entirely, he wanted to refuse her comfort. Her touched burned, and her presence left him guilty and unsettled – disgusted with himself for being used and soiled. Disgusted with himself for ever having entertained the thought of her death. Light closed his eyes. His warring emotions were what was making him sick, and all he wanted to do was find a way off that particular roller coster from hell.

* * *

It was close to an hour after his mother had brought him a few crackers and another round of Tylenol that his father slammed into his room.

Light jumped, his mind flashing once to a dark alley before focusing on the his quick breathed father. Did he run up the stairs?

"This is where you've been?" demanded Soichirou.

Light opened his mouth, at a loss for words. He hadn't seen his father this angry in a long time. What had he done? "Umm . . ."

"You've been here, in bed, for the past three days?" asked his father again. His mother came up behind him, grabbing his arm.

"Soichirou, he's sick. Let's leave his alo -" Soichirou shook off his wife's touch, stalking into the room.

"You couldn't have picked up the goddamn phone and called me? Do you know what your disappearence has done? Do you have any idea what the taskforce thinks?" demanded Soichirou once again.

Light blinked. Well he had sent a text . . . before his phone died. And, honestly, he hadn't given much thought to what everyone back at headquarters would think about his disappearence. He'd been trying not to think much at all for the past few days.

He shook his head. "I sent you a tex –"

"The notebook is gone, Light! It's gone! It disappeared the same time you did! Put two and two together!" yelled his father, clenching his fists.

Light felt his mouth go slack in his shock. The Death Note was gone? Disappeared at the same time he did? Shit. It didn't take a genius to figure out how that must have looked to everyone back at headquarters, as his father so kindly pointed out with his harsh manner.

The realization of the gravity of the situation must have shown in his face, if his father's next words were anything to go by. "Exactly, Light! Exactly! They think you stole it!"

Light glared, in the most honest indignation he had ever felt. "I didn't steal it! Why the hell would I want a killer notebook! Ryuuzaki was supposed to have it under lock and key! What? Did he leave it lying around somewhere? Coffee stained and sitting in a pile of sugar cubes?"

"I don't want to believe it! How could I want my own son to be a murderer!? But the situation isn't in your favor, Light, especially when Ryuuzaki was planning on testing the thirteen day rule," said his father, voice lowering at the end in pain.

Light started. The thirteen day rule? Of course, how could he have forgotten? The fake rule served a double purpose, as Light had intended it do so. Misa was supposed to have traded for the eyes after Light had her dig up the notebook, but incase she couldn't get access to Ryuuzaki, the thirteen day rule would set things in motion.

He knew Ryuuzaki would want to test it. He knew the detective would suspect it was fake, and proving the thirteen day rule was a fake would have brought the suspicion back on to Light and Misa, which in turn would have forced Rem to take action against the detective because of her feelings for Misa. Of course, Light would have expected Ryuuzaki to test the notebook after Misa had restarted the killings. He had no idea it was already planned.

"But I didn't do anything," said Light, feeling a ferocious ball of anxiety deep within his stomach. He didnt, not this time, and all he wanted was to be left alone.

"Well that's not what it looks like!" yelled his father.

Light scowled. "I don't have the notebook, and I sure as hell didn't steal it. Don't you think you'd be seeing the shinigami if I did have it stashed underneath my pillow?"

It was at that moment that something brushed the back of his hand.

"Hey, Light – o."

"GAH!" yelled Light, falling over the side of his bed and landing with a painful hiss.

"Light!" called his mother in concern, pushing past his father.

"Soichirou! You've got him scared half to death! He's sick, and I don't know what's going on. I don't like the sound of it either way, but can't you just let him alone for the night?" yelled his mother, who was gently helping Light back into bed.

His father sighed explosively. "Fine. I'm going back to work."

Soichirou left, slamming the door in his wake. His mother turned a tearful eye to him, settling the covers around him once more.

"I know you didn't steal whatever your father was going on about. I think I'd know my own son better than that by now," assured his mother, kissing him lightly on the head.

Light nodded, his heart racing, too freaked out to even feel slightly guilty at her words.

She stood up, patting him on the arm. "You get some rest, okay? I'll check in on you in the morning."

Light nodded again, attempting to breath normally for his mother's sake. Hopefully she'd just pin it down as being upset from his father's, and not because yellow, slitted eyes were smiling at him gleefully just behind her shoulder.

His mother closed the door behind her, and Light gave it a few seconds until her footsteps carried her down the stairs.

"Ryuk," he said, glaring up at the shinigami.

Ryuk cackled. "Light – o! I've never seen you sick before. Interesting."

Light's eyes narrowed. "What are you doing here?"

Ryuk held up the notebook. "I got tired of waiting for your girlfriend."

"Were you the one that stole Rem's notebook?" demanded Light.

"Hyuk hyuk hyuk, no. It wasn't me."

"Rem?"

More laughter. "Not even her, but she's after the one that did it."

"So another shinigami stole the notebook?" asked Light, incredulous. That was more than what he had expected.

"Maybe. Do you have an apple?" asked Ryuk, grinning, his sharpened teeth gleaming.

Light growled. "No, I'm sick, remember? I can't get you one right now. If you leave me to rest and come back tomorrow, I'll get you a damned apple, but only if you leave. I'll get extra if you tell me who the shinigami was that stole the notebook, and why they did it in the first place."

"Hmm," said Ryuk, all the while his body seemed to be twisting into itself by its own accord, probably at the promise of apples.

"Deal." The shinigami took off through the roof.

. . . dropping the Death Note as he left.

* * *

L blinked as Yagami finished his recounting of the night's events, slumping his shoulders in what could have only been physical and emotional exhaustion.

"Light-kun has been at home this whole time? Ill?" asked L, and he couldn't help but be suspicious. It was too convenient. Too planned.

Soichirou nodded his head. "He's been vomiting, has a fever – he even looks sick."

L quirked his head in thought. What was the percentage that Light really had been home ill? It hovered between 35 to 40%. Fairly decent, all things considered, but that was only because of the reported symptoms. L had a feeling that something more was going on within the Yagami household, and L had learned to trust his intuition over the years.

"He must be brought in. Immediately."

Soichirou sighed. "Ryuuzaki, Light's sick and in bed, do we really have to do this tonight?"

"The sooner the better Yagami-san," replied L, his fingers rolling around a sugar cube as he stared expressionless at his computer screen.

"What will I tell his mother?" asked Soichirou, his voice bordering on desperate.

L shrugged minutely. "That is not my concern, Yagami-san."

* * *

**A/N: **Okay, okay. Short, but at least we got another aspect of the plot rolling.

So, yeaaah, reviews are appreciated! Thank you SO MUCH, everyone that's reviewed! I can't tell you how happy your opinions make me feel, but I'm sure some of you have an idea.


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